


Roadrat Time Fillers!

by fatlittletoade



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, inappropriate use of explosives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-03-24 10:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13809756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatlittletoade/pseuds/fatlittletoade
Summary: Small drabbles I'll be uploading here and there when I have the ability to write but not the time to write for my more serious works! I'll update tags as necessary but if anything gets above a teen rating it'll probably go towards its own separate collection/work!





	1. Stick with what You Know

**Author's Note:**

> Junkrat was given responsibility and more than 5 minutes alone, what did they expect to happen? In other words, Junkrat blows up the kitchen.

“I just…” A deep breath in was exhaled out in the form of a long sigh. Probably the fourth or fifth if someone had kept count. And he had. It was the fifth. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around all of this. Do you even know how much money it’ll take to remake the  _entire_ kitchen?”

Junkrat snapped and pointed an accusing finger at the old soldier. “Ha! Can’t catch me with that one mate.” He had said, his perpetual smile widening into a grin that showed off far too much teeth. “That’s a trick question. Roadie’s been teachin’ me ‘bout those.”

Morrison slammed his hands down on his desk, nearby papers flying off in the same way Junkrat almost flew off his chair in alarm. The way the old man looked at him, his sharp blue eyes not losing a day while his face aged around them, it was off putting to say the least.

“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Fawkes.” Jack snapped. “So we’re going to go through this one more time, and I want you to tell me explicitly  _why_  you felt the need to blow up the kitchen.”

Junkrat lifted his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, don’t go havin’ a stroke on me.” He said, though the idea of seeing Jack suddenly just keel over after watching him jump across rooftops out in the battlefield was worth a giggle. “But if I’m gonna state my case I at least wanna be heard. Cause right now I feel like you’re jus’ gonna punish me no matter what I say.”

Junkrat bounced up from his chair and onto his feet. Extending his hand out to Morrison, he continued. “So I wanna deal statin’ that if my argument is fair, which it is, I at least get some kinda pardon.”

If Jack could have mustered up any more of a withering look Junkrat was sure the rest of his hair would have fallen out. Crossed arms and an unamused expression, Jack flatly replied, “I will not agree to that.”

“Fair.” Junkrat quickly conceded, falling back in his chair. It was a long shot anyway. “But ‘cause I’m nice I’ll tell you anyway.”

Jack didn’t seem to think that warranted any kind of response, so he simply kept his arms crossed and his glower intact as he waited for Junkrat to continue, which he did.

“I like to consider myself a man of many skills.” With a flourish of his wrist Junkrat held his fist out, raising a new finger as he went down his list. “First and foremost, I’m the most brilliant bomber to have ever walked the earth. Two feet or otherwise. I’d like to see some high society bloke with a screw loose try an’ make what I do with prime materials, let alone the scrap and piss-water chemicals in the Outback.”

“So you’re saying that-”

“Second!” Jamie held out his second finger. “I am a lover, though if ya want the raunchy bits on that, you’re gonna have to get it straight from the pig’s mouth!” 

Jack pinched the bridge between his nose as he waited for the insane cackling to stop. This wasn’t how he wanted to spend his evening, and he almost debated on whether or not an explanation was going to be worth listening on to Junkrat babble for an hour and then deal with the successive migraine that would last for at least three. But it didn’t matter now, they were here and Jack Morrison was anything but a quitter. So he listened on as Junkrat tallied off his various “skills”. 

Some of them were things anyone could know from reading over Junkrat’s file: mercenary, thief, scavenger. While other parts included things like the self-proclaimed title of “Heist-Master-Extraordinaire-2.6.5 (Jack didn’t want to think about the things that lead up to the title having so many modifications), and being a master at concussion mine jumping which Jack had seen before and could have been impressed with if not for the absurd amount of stupidity required for someone to even attempt such a thing in the first place.

“But despite my overflowing talents,” Junkrat sighed and slumped down in his chair. “Outside the realm of barbecue, I’m not too much of a cook. So I’m sure ya can understand my dilemma when it was finally my turn in that bullshit community cookin’ arrangement thing we do.”

“It was a predetermined meal. You had the instructions on how to make everything on a sheet of paper.” If Jack’s exasperation was showing, it was on purpose.

“Well yeah, but there’s jus’ too much left open for interpretation! Like the first step was too vague!”

“Cook. The pasta.”

“Exactly!” Junkrat threw his arms up and stood up from his chair. “Fuckin’ excuse me for not growin’ up anywhere fancy enough to have noodles! I jus’ figured I gotta warm them up an’ then they’ll get all squishy like their supposed to. So I chucked the bags into the oven, turned it up to 177 an’ went to cut up all the green shit like the paper said I needed to.”

“177? Celsius?” Morrison repeated, his eyes going wide. “You threw enough bags of noodles to feed sixteen people into an oven that was set to over 300 degrees?”

“I didn’t know!” Junkrat groaned. He started pacing around the office, gesturing wildly as he recounted his story. “An’ when I smelled the smoke at first I figured it was me so I left it alone until I noticed the room started gettin’ a little hazy. That’s when I turned ‘round an’ saw the that the inside of the oven was burnin’ up a storm!

So I threw open the door, which was my bad. Backdraft’s got me more times than I’d like to admit, that son of a bitch.” Junkrat shrugged. “Naturally after I got up from bein’ knocked on my ass I realized I had a problem. Normally I don’t give a shit an’ I’ll let it burn out on it’s own, but I realized sending the whole place up in smoke would be a bad idea. So you’re welcome.”

Jack’s voice came out in a growl. He had stopped crossing his arms and now his fists were clenched at his sides. “Fawkes...”

“Hooley dooley you’re an angry cunt! I’m almost finished. The oven is all but gone but I also know it’s the source of the problem. An’ turning it off wasn’t any solution ‘cause the noodles were just a bonfire at that point. So I needed to get rid of the fire an’ the oven for this whole thing to be rectified.

I’m lookin’ around an’ I spot all the booze that’s supposed to be for cookin’ an’ not drinkin’ for some weird fuckin’ reason an’ I grab a bottle.” Junkat reached out, pantomiming the motion and lifting the imaginary bottle over his head. “An’ from experience I know when ya add alcohol an’ fire you get a big explosion that can clear a room better than one of Roadhog’s farts. I throw it an’ everything goes white for half a second. Even after bracin’ myself I’m knocked back a good five feet and the normal ringin’ in my ears is worse than usual so all I can hear is my own breathin’. But!”

Junkrat turned on his heel to face Jack who, at that point, was red in the face and practically seething. Junkrat didn’t notice, because he was too busy beaming with pride. “But,” He repeated, putting his hands on his hips. “The explosion was so massive that everything got scorched an’ there was nothin’ left for the fire to cling to! So I put it out!”

Morrison slowly walked around to the front of his desk, his eyes never leaving Junkrat as he stalked over to him. “So you’re telling me you blew up the kitchen to put out a fire? And it didn’t cross your mind  _once_  to use the fire extinguisher?”

Junkrat blinked slowly. “The what?”

“Get the hell out of my office.”

\-----

Book in hand, Roadhog waited patiently outside of Jack’s office, his body taking up more than half of the long bench provided. He was just about to discover why Lady Abigail had left the estate and Sir Richard to run off with the stable boy when the door open and Junkrat came strolling out. 

The blond turned his head when he noticed his partner stand up. Grinning ear to ear, Junkrat hopped over beside him.

“Aw, ya big lug, ya waited up for me?” Junkrat traced the pattern of a heart on his large stomach. 

Roadhog merely grunted in return as the two of them started walking down the hall. He didn’t need to do anything but look down at Junkrat for the other to divulge the conclusion of the meeting.

Junkrat dismissively waved back towards the direction of the office. “Nah, mate, dunno what he’s so on about. Somethin’ to do with a fire stinger.”


	2. I Can Make You a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're thirsty for revenge, but also thirsty for the D

The good doctor wasn’t used to entertaining guests. Engrossed day in and day out in his work there was hardly such a time for the luxury of company, so most usually he simply chattered to his robots whenever the urge for conversation struck him. 

Fixing loose wiring, adding on new weaponry, Junkenstein would talk at his precious machines as if they had a will of their own and could understand him. A one sided banter that would last for hours and only ended when the doctor got pulled away to work on something else. 

Rarely the imagined conversations took a turn for the worst. Days where Junkenstein would return from the village and the voices he often imagined would turn cruel and mocking, echoing the disgusted sentiment the king shared. Ceaseless, they would rattle around in his brain and mix together into a deafening static until Junkenstein felt like his brilliant brain would melt away into nothing. 

Maddened by it all he knew that there was only one way to get them to stop: by throwing them carelessly into a pile out in his courtyard and letting his rip-tire loose on the whole lot of them. The Zomnics were in need of upgrades anyway, scrapping them was helping him skip the annoying intricacies of adding on new patches. And whatever parts of his mood that wasn’t improved by the raining robotic body parts was cheered up by the bottles of chemicals he would toss into the fires to create different colors. The green flames brought on by the boric acid were his favorite.

So maybe Dr. Junkenstein wasn’t used to guests. Maybe. But it was hardly a bad thing because it brought him to his greatest project yet: the creation of life. It was all very under lock and key, the last thing the doctor needed was another angry hoard of villagers at his castle doors once again. Their screams of fear grew stale after the first two or three times he sicked his Zomnics at them.

That’s why, on a cloudy night with only the full moon to illuminate the land below, Doctor Junkenstein was surprised to see two uninvited guests in his lab. Two guests not from anywhere on Earth. They were ethereal, but not in any way that angels were.

The witch had a commanding presence both in the way she held herself and the sheer aura emanating off of her. A beautiful face couldn’t hide the evil in her eyes no matter how blue they could be. The staff gripped tight in her hand was radiating a pulsing yellow light at the top, and with the tome strapped to her hip it made Junkrat’s fingers itch to take them both and learn her secrets. Surely he could put them to better use than her.

But perhaps he wasn’t the first to think so, because the thing next to her could only be described as some type of underworld bodyguard. Leather on top of leather with a popped collar, his orange and black scheme matched the witch’s and covered him head to toe. The only exception was his head

The witch had a subtle malice to her, but her bodyguard was the exact opposite. Residing above his shoulders (with no connection by a neck) was a round pumpkin with a cruel face jaggedly cut out to replace its head. The markings stretched and shrunk with the same elasticity of skin, and when his head moved it revealed nothing but the same ominous yellow light glowing from within his body.

Oh, they were just practically begging the doctor to cut them open and see what they’re made of. However, when they explained themselves and their desire to see his creation, Junkenstein was ecstatic and quickly forgot his plans of dissection.

“Well he’s not a creation  _ per say _ .” Junkenstein said, making a noncommittal, back and forth gesture with his hand. “Creation implies makin’ somethin’ from nothin’. It’s a creation in the sense that I had to draw up the schematics, write the equations for the right amount of transfusions, shit like that. But everythin’ else is organic and recycled from fresh graves, so it’s less of an artistic creation and more a scientific invention. Though I would like to say my design is nothin’ short of artistic gen-”

“You’re getting off topic, doctor.” The witch’s voice dripped with annoyance, betraying the impassive expression she had on her face. The pumpkin, however, was more expressive than she was, openly scowling at Junkenstein.

The two supernatural entities watched Dr. Junkenstein pace about his lab, his back now turned to them as he walked over to a large slab with a mass on top obscured by a large blanket. In his hurry to get there the doctor’s uneven gait became over exaggerated and made him look like he was bobbing up and down while walking on a flat surface.

Undeterred, the doctor laughed before replying to the witch. “Of course, of course. Trust me, I’m jus’ as excited to get to the main event. So,” He rounded the table, facing the witch and her servant. “Shall I show you my latest obsession?”

Before either could answer the doctor took hold of the blanket and with a flourish it flew off the table to reveal the body underneath. 

Had the witch been mortal, it might have taken her breath away.

Laying on the table was not any man, but a monstrosity. Death had stained the skin a sickly green, different areas being different shades because the creature was so large in mass that it needed the skin of multiple bodies simply to cover it all. Gaps between the stitches To add to the inhuman nature of the thing, it appeared that the doctor had taken the liberty of adding a mask made of pigskin complete with a snout to obscure the monster’s face.

Slowly, the witch approached it to get a closer look. Her eyes were drawn first to the conducting rods sticking out in various places on the creature’s body. The shoulders, feet, even the large screws that had been drilled into its jawbone were a testament to the doctor’s initial dabbling in electric shocks to try and reanimate the bastardized corpse. The Witch of the Wilds had laughed at his primitive efforts from afar, but now up close she could fully appreciate how far the doctor had come.

Being so close also allowed her to view some of the... aesthetic choices the doctor made with his design. The clothes were custom made, they had to be, and while the stitching was good it was more on the gothic side with the leather jacket and spikes. That wasn’t even mentioning the ‘D3AD’ belt buckle or the ‘TERROR’ tattooed poorly across the monster’s large gut. It seemed that her servant took notice of it as well, his clawed finger gently scraping along the word.

Though his eyes were only empty sockets of a carved pumpkin, the way the light shifted within it indicated that he was looking at Junkenstein.  “A little tacky, don’t you think?” He asked.

With a loud gasp, Junkenstein threw himself on top of his creation defensively, swatting her servant’s hand away. “”Fuck off! I didn’t make him for  _ you _ !”

“Then what did you make it for, doctor?” The Witch of the Wilds asked, stifling a giggle over the petty squabble between the two. 

“Well,” Junkenstein stood up, letting his hands drag slowly along the creature’s stomach as he did so. “He’ll have a great many purposes I assure you. Now of course there’s the more obvious.”

Eyes gleaming behind his goggles, Junkenstein was looking down yet a thousand miles away as his vision came to him. He could picture it all as clearly as he could the very first time he put his plans into motion for making his monster. “What he might lack in brains, he will more than make up for in brawn. An’ he’s gonna use all that brawn to go straight down to the village an’ slaughter everythin’ in his wake ‘til he’s right at the doors of the castle. Oh they’ll all scream, probably beg like the fuckin’ cowards they’ve always been. But he won’t listen, an’ the last moments of their insignificant lives will be used to finally appreciate my genius!” 

The lab fell away, the dark stone and lights melting and morphing into the streets of the town. Dr. Junkenstein could see through the eyes of his monster as it tore its way through the crowds. Strong hands extending outward from a behemoth body, strong enough to lift the townsfolk by their heads with just one hand and able to crack their skulls open like eggs just as easy. Blood and entrails painting the cobblestone streets red. The people could  _ try  _ and fight back, but without the help of the Zomnics they took for granted they stood no chance.

Of course there would be weaklings within them, the lambs among the sheep, who would try to run or hide. A twisted mind ever moving, the doctor tweaked his imagination to accommodate the problem. Where rippling muscles could not reach, a gun could. It would need to be large for his monster, something to slow down its prey for the eventual slaughter. Not enough to outright kill, but something to make them suffer. To bleed and cripple, prolonging the inevitable. Or perhaps he could fashion something simpler for his dimwitted creation; something to draw them in close. Maybe he could make both.

God, he was practically salivating at the imagined carnage. For a moment his words trailed off at his tongue, savoring their taste rather than expunging them from his mind. They tasted like copper, the bitterness of ale, and the decadent sweetness of revenge. Junkenstein licked his lips as he finally continued. “An’ then when the lord comes out from hidin’ he’ll get to admire my monster’s good work jus’ long enough before his head gets ripped off an’ I get to drop a big one right down his throat.”

Junkenstein’s entire body shook with his manic laughter, throwing his head back in unrestrained glee. In his lab, the laughter bounced off the cold stone walls until his cackle reverberated enough to ring in his ears.

The two beings shared looks with one another. Doctor Junkenstein’s bloodlust was something to admire, certainly outside the normal threshold of most mortals. It was what had drawn them to him in the first place; extreme intellect mixed with a chaotic and unstable personality. Unpredictable on his own, but with the right tools easily manipulated.

The Witch of the Wilds had been watching mankind for centuries, reveling in their tiny squabbles and even adding to the chaos when she saw fit, but her frivolous tendencies were backed with restraint that came from a woman destined to watch the world slowly pass by until time itself disintegrated to ash at her feet. She was smart, careful, and when it was time to give away her gifts she didn’t like to leave any uncertainty or loose ends.

Arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow the witch asked, “What are you planning to do once it’s all over? Once you’ve had your destruction.”

Idle hands now found themselves on the monster’s chest, gloved fingers brushing through the course hair that laid on top of it. Upon hearing the witch’s question Junkenstein’s face nearly split in half with a large grin. 

“Well, strength in itself is all find an’ dandy. Keeps ya from gettin’ the sand kicked in your face. But there’s something about a deltoid, and a bicep.” Junkenstein fell prone against his creation again, eyes and hands following along to the according muscle as he spoke. They paused on its body as his eyes tilted down. 

“A uh,” He paused himself to giggle, unable to bite back the grin even as his crooked teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “And a tricep. It just makes me wanna  _ shake! _ ” He wiggled his body to the point of indecency, but the creature under him barely shifted. “Makes me wanna laugh right at the lord’s ass-hair covered face!”

“That’s… fine.” The witch replied slowly, unable to think of the right words as she caught on to the doctor’s intentions. Her servant had as well, his posture rigid next to her and his arms crossed tight over his chest. He was wise to stay silent.

Raising her hand aloft to the sky, the witch rose from the ground. Her wings ignited and expanded out, holding her effortlessly in place as she called upon her magic in her native tongue, a language lost to time and incomprehensible to those who didn’t already know it. Light enveloped her until it focused itself into a beacon on her hand, manifesting a crystal. 

Jaw going slack, Junkenstein slipped off of his monster to witness the magic before him. It had an otherwordly pull on him, beckoning him closer. The light didn’t even seem natural, resplendent and powerful. Smaller circles of light twirled aimlessly within the beam for a few moments until, like a swarm of fireflies, the all floated up together and conglomerated into a singular bright mass. In a flash, light became a glowing green crystal hovering above the witch’s palm. Junkenstein’s fingers itched to touch it. It looked like it would burn.

Lowering herself to the ground with grace, her feet barely made a sound as they reconnected to the floor. Not a hair out of place or a breath too strained, she held out the crystal to Dr. Junkenstein. 

“Behold, good doctor.” She said, the crystal’s green light reflecting against her devilish eyes “I offer that which you seek. The Spark of Life. I will give this to you, and you may use it to finish your work. I want only one thing in return. A day will come when I will call on you for a favor.”

“And no matter what it is,” Her servant was well versed in her deals, and his intimidation often helped seal the pact. “You  _ will  _ honor it.”

The crystal held no discernable weight. If not for the tangible feeling of it in his hands, the doctor would not have known it was there at all. Set deep within the center was a light trapped inside, beating rhythmically. A heartbeat. The choice was simple. 

Tearing his eyes away, he cast them upon his monster. No more sleepless nights would he have, futile in his attempts to see his creation breathe and walk. Now, it was all literally within his grasp. 

“Jus’ ya wait, baby.” He murmured. The pulse in his hands quickened, matching the beat in his own chest. “I’m gonna make ya a man.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by mozg-art and their amazing comic!! (they gave me permission to make this fic too, so that's p neat)  
> Read the comic here! http://mozg-art.tumblr.com/post/167999932530/in-just-7-days-oooh-baby-i-can-make-you-a  
> Please let me know what you think! I'm way late to the Junkenstein party *shrug emoji* You can also reblog this fic at my tumblr moonshotsandstarsocks :D


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